


the seven shades of john deacon

by windupkatya (softbri)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Drunken Confessions, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, In-Universe RPF, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Period Typical Attitudes, ROGER SINGS KARAOKE, Timelapses, i did so much research for this, i hate sex scenes so im not writing any sorry, i probably made up words for this, john is SOFT for roger, lowercase intended, roger loves john, roger wants john, slowburn? kind of, they cuddle, wholesome fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softbri/pseuds/windupkatya
Summary: “i like you, johnny boy.” roger whispered, his face inching over the bedding. “i want you to come to the auditions tomorrow.”“yeah?” the pink tint on his cheeks dove into a red.“yeah.”(set in 1971-1982. there's a lot of time jumps.)





	the seven shades of john deacon

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to deathonthreelegs & mercuryinyourcup on instagram! thank u both for being very patient with my slow ass.  
> IM SORRY I HAVENT WRITTEN IN SO LONG!!! i have no excuses except for my insanely bad writers block.  
> anyways, i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <333 i made a playlist for people to listen to with the fic that i'll link here: https://open.spotify.com/user/baileeiero/playlist/0BuX3ci846vkYNDeL0btSI?si=Nx0DPULTQMSJNofbSOpG7g  
> lots of love,  
> b

FEBRUARY, 1971  
a red hue fell over the room of swaying bodies, the blaring speaker vibrated the floor one second off to the down beat of whatever shitty disco song was being played. the brunette leaned against the wall, clenching his hand tighter around the red solo cup full of cheap booze. john sighed, racking his mind to recall how he let his flatmate, hank, convince him to stop studying and come out for the night.  
halfheartedly, the boy’s eyes waved over the room, attempting to find a familiar smile enclosed in the crowd. to no luck, the individuals were nothing more to deacy than he was to them- another unknown face at a party they’d barely remember in the morning. many of them were only interested in hookups anyway, which was not the boy’s forte. he didn’t get the whole hype about them, especially on weekdays when there was a lecture at 8am.  
progressively, an increasing amount of bodies found their way against the walls. more and more identities were being introduced as the dance floor became thin, with only a handful of people sober enough to move to the rhythm of ‘american woman’ by the guess who. one of them caught deacy’s eyes without hesitation; blonde hair fell past their shoulders, a tight striped shirt hugged their torso in all the right places, and their bell bottoms sat perfectly below their hips. john twitched, adjusting his weight from his left foot to the right. something about them caused him to want to look more present.  
john stared at them for another two songs, steadily sipping the beer he had been holding as a prop prior. as the alcohol began to kick in, he began bobbing his head slightly. a small smile crept on his face as the music began to wash over his body. still leaning against the wall, deacy began to hum the melody while pretending to play his bass guitar. closing his eyes, it no longer felt like he was at a party, he was transported to the comfort of his bedroom, where he’d spend endless hours writing fun riffs and fingering lines of random songs on his bass.  
suddenly, he felt a rush of warm air against his neck. he opened his eyes without a second thought to see blonde hair and bright blue eyes.  
it was the person from the dance floor.  
“uh, hello.” john stumbled, his greeting coming out more like a question.  
the individual, who on closer inspection, was a male, smiled.  
“hi, i’m roger taylor.” his words slurred together, as if his tongue was too heavy to move.  
“john deacon.” the younger one stuck out his hand. the other shook it loosely.  
“i just came over here to say you’re,” blue eyes wandered up and down deacy’s frame, ”cute.”  
a rush of blood came to john’s cheeks. sheepishly he glanced at the floor, noticing the other’s pink lace ups. a definite fashion choice.  
“thanks! you as well.” they grinned at each other, an awkward atmosphere settling around the two.  
“so, who’re you here with?” roger questioned, eyeing the walls to the left and right of john.  
“hank. hank heyfield. but i think he left with a girl quite a bit ago. i haven’t seen him in hours.”  
roger lit up instantly. puzzled, deacy waited for an elaboration.  
“no way! him and i have advanced biology together. are you his bassist flatmate then?” his voice raised in excitement.  
“yeah, yeah i am actually.” at this point, his face was probably as red as the tinted lights above. it definitely felt like it at least.  
“he’s told me you’re really, really good. even though you like to play it into the early hours of the morning some days.” he winked. “my band, smile, is actually looking for a new bassist right now. would you be interested?” roger raised his right eyebrow, smirking at the boy.  
before deacy could open his mouth for a reply, another man waltzed up to them, visibly intoxicated.  
“hey rog,” he mumbled, “why don’t we get out of here?” the edges of his lips twitched upward.  
the blonde’s eye swam through a wave of emotion as he eyed the new man down, the twist of his lips told john that he couldn’t recall how much he enjoyed this man previously- sexually or not. thirty seconds weighed between the two of them, before the shortest peeped at deacy.  
“john, let’s go.” the blonde linked his arm with deacy’s, shifting his mass onto the sober one.  
puzzled, the bassist beelined for the exit with roger trailing closely behind. the london breeze weaved itself around the bodies, shivers crept down their spines. the empty silence rang through john’s ears as he attempted to assist roger down the dilapidated sidewalk.  
“what was on your mind for places to go?” deacy whispered, deciding not to question about the man from the party. his acquaintance hummed absentmindedly.  
“lets go to your flat. play me bass.” he grumbled, pointing in the completely wrong direction of the men’s dormitories.  
stifling a chuckle, john let his eyes wander down to roger. the two were awfully close physically. he could sense the corduroy of roger’s pants grazing the denim of his. their elbows sat comfortably in the dip of the other’s arm, occasionally their fingers would briefly sweep against the opposite torso. the warmth of intimacy covered deacy like a sheet, to him this felt awfully right. even though roger was a new somebody, he was somebody, and that made his heart race. 

once at the flat, roger haphazardly flung himself onto john’s bed. to much comfort, hank was nowhere to be found on the premises, so they didn’t have to worry about being quiet.  
john swiftly grabbed his bass off of it’s stand and began plucking its strings. as the instrument began to ring throughout the small space, rog’s eyes emerged from the blanket mountain he had drunkenly formed on deacy’s mattress. john’s wandered up to meet his, momentarily reaching to the ocean blues in front of him. giddily, the blonde retreated behind the plush barrier, and a sheepish grin formed on the bassist lips. muffled giggles left roger’s lips as he listened along to john’s improv. on the other side, a shade of pink washed over the performers face as he finished.  
“i like you, johnny boy.” roger whispered, his face inching over the bedding. “i want you to come to the auditions tomorrow.”  
“yeah?” the pink tint on his cheeks dove into a red.  
“yeah.” 

 

AUGUST, 1975  
the monotonous buzz of artificial lights echoed throughout the empty barn. john hummed a soft tune, tapping his pencil along to the rhythm that played in his mind. the clock that ticked beside him read 2:37am, but time didn’t matter when it came to writing music. in deacy’s opinion, his best songs were made at ungodly hours such as this. no distractions, just himself and his thoughts; which was a good or bad thing, depending on how people looked at it.  
progressively, his page became filled with sloppy handwriting. lyrics, harmonies, and the dictation for the instrumental swirled into a tornado on his sheet.  
“you’re my best friend,” he whispered to himself, grinning. “roger.”  
unexpectedly, the creek of the door interrupted his train of thought. john jumped, his heart immediately racing at the change of atmosphere. he whipped his head around, only to see bed-head blonde hair. his heart quicked for a different reason as his fellow band member approached him, a lazy smile painted on his perfect face. the brunette felt his body surge with excitement as roger taylor sat himself on the chair beside him.  
“you’re up awfully late, deacy.” rog chuckled.  
“yeah. just working on a song i thought about today.” he averted his eyes to the white canvas in front of him. he could sense roger’s eyes on him, watching his every move.  
“what’s it about?”  
“best friends, and how they’re some of the most important people in your life.” john sheepishly glanced over at the boy beside him, wanting to take in the moment.  
roger had most definitely just rolled out of bed. his collarbone length hair shot in every direction, and his baby blues were still lined with sleep. the plain white shirt that he had on accentuated his hips- deacy forced himself not to look. he himself had on what he wore to the studio this morning; a random yellow tee, bell bottoms, and suede heeled boots. for some reason, it felt as if the drummer was more appropriately dressed for this scenario.  
the blonde wrapped his hands around the arms of his chair and scooted it toward the other, his eyes dead-set on the paper that contained john’s song. deacy didn’t stop him as he grabbed the flimsy loose-leaf off of the wooden table- he was too distracted by the new warmth that was found with rog’s leg leaning against his. physical affection was common between the two, but john couldn’t help but melt into the touch.  
“i really, really like this!” roger whispered, returning the song to it’s original owner. “if you want, i can lay down the drum line tonight. sleep can wait.” a wink swept across his eyelid.  
without a second thought, the other agreed. excitedly, the two raced into the recording booth, the drummer beating the bassist by a millisecond. in victory, taylor stuck his tongue out and poked deacon’s shoulder. john just shook his head and smiled at the liveliness of his counterpart. 

the blonde plopped himself at the drumkit, electricity buzzed through his fingertips. with his sticks in hand, he let the world disappear. even though the vision of the song was more relaxed than most of the other pieces from their album, playing was still playing, drums were still drums. john counted on him and that’s all that mattered.  
on the other side of the glass, deacy rested his chin in his palm, not letting himself miss a moment of the man’s actions. a content feeling sat inside him as his bandmate wiped beads of sweat off his forehead. a light pink tinge crept to his cheeks and rog stood up, his white shirt riding up to show off his happy trail. they made eye contact, rog smirked.  
“you like what you see?” he wiggled his brows, letting his drumsticks hit the floor beside his kit.  
john couldn’t answer, just watched as roger strutted back into the booth.  
“i’m kidding, john. don’t need to look like you accidentally walked in on someone.” his smirk was still firmly planted.  
a scarlet shade presented itself on the brunette’s face.  
“i think i liked the last run-through best.” he whispered.  
with a half assed grunt of agreeance, rog sat himself on the orange corduroy couch that was against the very back wall. with a strong yawn, the blonde glanced at deacy, his eyes whispering for john to sit with him. happily, he obliged.  
the clock ticked 4:57am behind them, but quickly it’s monotonous ring was overpowered by the men’s snoring. the drummer’s arms were loosely wrapped around the bassist’s torso, and deacy‘s head snugly sat in the crook of the other’s neck. if comfort could have a name, john knew it would be roger taylor. 

 

DECEMBER, 1977  
“who the hell let it be this bloody cold?” the blonde yelled as he attempted to tug his fur coat closer to his body. his fellow bandmates giggled at him, brian rolling his eyes in amusement.  
“rog, you act like you haven’t lived in the UK for your whole damn life.” the guitarist chuckled, whether in irritation or amusement was unknown.  
“my balls are gonna freeze off, brian. this is no laughing matter.” a death glare was shot at the tallest of the four.  
“the leather pants may make your ass look good, but it was definitely not a good decision, honey.” freddie eyed the one in question up and down, flicking his cigarette absentmindedly.  
“i’m a bit cold, too,” john piped in. “not to mention it’s getting dark. can we please just go to the pub?”  
the band continued their way down the empty london streets, the winter wind nipping at their noses. snowflakes gently made their way to the cobblestone, disappearing only seconds later. roger watched them float down in awe, deacy felt his heart warm as the drummer stuck his tongue out trying to catch a piece of the sky. roger taylor truly was a walking juxtaposition, a boy trapped inside faux fur and skin tight leather pants, and john helplessly loved it.  
the bar was bursting with people, cheers and glass clinks drowned out the melody that was being sang by the extremely intoxicated man at the front.  
“shit. i forgot it was karaoke night.” the blonde grimaced, physically wincing at the off-key rendition of dreams by fleetwood mac.  
john bopped along to the melody, scanning the area for any open booths. luckily, one was found tucked in a far off corner, perfect to hide in with the rest of the band. with lack of thought deacy reached out for rog’s hand interlacing their fingers. they maneuvered their way through the crowd and to the seat; the other two followed behind, linking their arms. once they managed to sit down, roger squeezed his bassist's hand before letting it go and placing it on the plastic between them. the distance, even of 2 millimeters, was painful.  
swiftly, beers began to show up on their table. happily, all of them let the substance into their bodies. the heat of the alcohol swirled inside, relaxing them simultaneously. after 3 beers, the four were laughing obnoxiously, retelling stories of their time on tour. freddie was particularly keen on re-accounting the story of an older fan trying to get roger to go home with her when they were back in dublin, which made both rog and john's blood rush to their faces.  
the sobriety of the band become slim to none as the karaoke machine became more and more available. roger, who was on his 6th beer and 2nd shot, tapped john's thigh, indicating that he wanted out of their booth. john slid out, shifting his weight from his left to right foot as the drunk blonde haphazardly flung himself out of the corner. without looking back, the man disappeared into the crowd, the other three presumed to find the loo. the brunette sat himself back down, immediately joining brian and freddie’s intense conversation about what dog breed is the best.  
the static of a microphone pierced the bar, causing everyone in attendance to groan in unison at the unpleasant squeak. queen turned their attention from the pros and cons of golden retrievers, to the stage, where roger taylor stood. a toothy smile was lit on his face as he watched all the bodies direct themselves to the front. secondhand embarrassment radiated from his three friends, who all had begun to whisper amongst each other.  
“what the hell do you think he’s doing?” freddie mumbled behind his hand.  
“singing,” brian replied quietly, “but he hates karaoke!”  
“i don’t think drunk roger knows that.” john piped in, peeping at his counterpart through his hands. “he’s definitely going to regret this tomorrow.”  
“that’s if he remembers it.” brian shot. the other two giggled.  
the beginning of don’t go breakin my heart by elton john began to blast over the shitty stereo system. excitedly, roger turned himself to face his friends, eyeing up his favourite bassist. right before the lyrics kicked in, he raised the microphone to his lips.  
“for john,” he slurred, his grin increasingly expanding. “don’t go breaking my heart.”  
deacy’s whole body shifted at the words, becoming oddly aware of the eyes that were now settled on him. a whirlwind of emotions danced inside- awe, confusion, lust- causing his less than sober self to squeak. he stared at the blonde, waiting for some sort of clarification. after almost 7 years of cat and mouse, this couldn’t be happening. the thought of requited love seemed foreign, especially when roger was involved.  
applause wracked the cramped pub. whistles and stomping shook the floor as the drummer made his way back to his 3 companions. freddie and brian high-fived him as he reappeared, and john just looked at him, no words comprehending in his mind. rog reached his hand out toward his counterpart, and john took it- still no words rolling off his tongue.  
the two made their way to the bathroom, which was empty to their blessing. roger locked the door behind them, making sure it would remain that way. deacy, confused, stood there- waiting for a queue of some kind from the other.  
“john.”  
“roger.”  
both of their words were airy in anticipation of what was yet to come. within the blink of an eye, rog’s lips were against john’s. it was soft, passionate. 6 years and 9 months of tension lifted off of john’s shoulders as he let roger pull him in closer. this was right. the world seemed to stop as they pulled apart, either not daring to open their eyes and accept that that was over. the brunette could still feel the traces of love against his mouth. “i like you, johnny boy,” rog whispered. “a lot.”  
john’s mind whirled back to their first encounter, when roger told him that exact thing after listening to him play the bass for the first time. he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. the world works in mysterious ways, and he was infinitely grateful for it. he was infinitely grateful for roger taylor. he was infinitely grateful for this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! if you wanna message me, feel free to follow @rogertaylah on instagram :)


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